The Gift And Trick In It
by beenworkingonacoktail
Summary: There is a demon putting him to sleep, Ciel thinks every night.


**Title**: The Gift And Trick In It  
**Pairing**: None  
**Words**: 769  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Genre**: Dunno. Not angst, not humour; there's tension there that's not UST, but that can't really be a genre, can it?  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Disclaimer**: I own nothing; the mangaka does. Isn't that lovely?  
**Summary/Excerpt**: There is a demon putting him to sleep, Ciel thinks every night.

**A/N**: This was sitting around in my computer for months, and I finally went around and brushed it up a bit, enough to post.

* * *

There is a demon putting him to sleep, Ciel thinks every night.

And he thinks, on some days, some nights, that the demon is strange to handle, because he is always, always so nice – even when he kills. Even when his words hint wickedly towards the end.

But Sebastian is always there. Sebastian will always save him. Sebastian will speak the truth. The contract is a cold assurance that Ciel is grateful for; because Sebastian will always be, will always serve, will never lie.

Although he always lies, because, even years on, Ciel refuses to believe that a demon can be so pleasant when making tea and tending herbs and sweeping away broken dishes, burnt out meals and dust.

There is a demon in his house. Someone who never sleeps, someone Ciel can never trust, although Sebastian will never lie, will never leave, will never fail.

Sebastian, who is the best of tutors, best of fighters, best of cooks; the perfect gentleman for gentlemen and all things in between. Ciel has got used to rely on him, because Sebastian will never leave, will never fail, will never lie. Ciel gives orders and knows they'll be obeyed, and that, of course, is all there is to it. It is a proper price for his immortal soul, and he will gladly lose his soul to get exactly what he wants. So he orders the powers of hell, he, a 12 year old boy, because he has all the authority he needs. Because of that, Sebastian will never fail, or lie, or leave. Will keep cooking him dinner and ironing his clothes, and how empowering it is to give out such menial tasks, how flustering and satisfying both, to see them carried out without a beat.

There is a demon in his house, walking down rebuilt halls that his parents have never seen or touched. There is a demon in his house, and all his servants love him, worship the ground he walks on, his presence and his skills, and never, ever question the strangeness of these things; and Ciel cannot make up his mind whether to be angry or not for their utterly misplaced trust.

There is a demon in his house, and Ciel quite simply hates him. Because in these past years he has come to rely on this unstable force, because, somehow, most of the time, the best part of him never doubts.

It never doubts a _demon_, this demon who dares smile at him, and cook his meals, and tend his house. Who feigns attachment and good grace. Who reaches out for him in the times when he stumbles. And Ciel hates, seethes, and snaps with anger, and he ploughs on towards his vengeance while setting everything aside.

But there's a demon in his house, who puts him to sleep every night and wakes him every morning; who feeds him, clothes him, orders out his day. Who spars with him, and hunts with him, and helps him with his studies.

The demon smoothes his shirt down in the morning and carefully unfastens his buttons at night; light from the candlestick he carries glimmers warmly by his bent back, and Ciel's skin crawls and his gut twists, because he remembers his mother, he remembers his father, and it is far too wrong to remember his parents with Sebastian there. Because Sebastian should not, in any way, be trusted, because of what he is; Sebastian just does not care, and Ciel cares even less.

Sebastian is just a tool, one that will turn against its master, full knowing and full willing, patiently waiting for that day.

Sebastian smiles, a pleasant, easy-tearing rip in a too-pale, too-open face, and Ciel smirks back maliciously, matching power and wit with the bounds of the contract and slowly building scorn for the shapes of his world.

When the night comes, and larger hands than his carefully smooth out wrinkles in his shirt, soothingly settle blankets down around him, Ciel remembers he is young, and his shoulders feel heavy.

Come morning, though, normality will curl around him once again, and he will be too busy with his tasks to think of this, or doubt, or worry; but he will always, always know that there's a demon in his house, and that somehow, stupidly, even knowing that, point in fact, he _doesn't_, he just _can't_, he's come to trust him, and depend on him, and all the moves he makes are ordered out accordingly.

Because Sebastian will always be, will always serve, will never lie, and Ciel will pay for it when the time comes.

* * *


End file.
